


strangers in a café

by d_jinn



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M, Panic Attack, Self Harm, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 05:43:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9164662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d_jinn/pseuds/d_jinn
Summary: Jongin suffers a panic attack, but he isn't as alone as he thought.





	

Jongin is sipping on his mug of hot chocolate when he feels it – a rush of heat passing through his body. He quickly sets his mug down and leans back on the plush of the couch he is seated on. This could _not_ have happened at a worse timing.

With a shaky exhale, Jongin closes his eyes and lolls his head backwards, his hands balling into fists. He feels his unkempt nails dig into the flesh of his palm but the mild stinging is not enough to distract him from the _real issue_.

His chest feels tight, his heart beating loudly against his ribcage. He feels his arms shiver though it is not exactly chilly inside the café. He breathes deeply into his nostrils but the air gets stuck somewhere in his throat on its way out.

 _Really,_ why does it have to happen _now?_

Jongin snaps his eyes open and he nearly jumps at how foreign everything seemed – though, _really_ , he should have been used to that symptom by now. He looks downwards, at the wooden floor and the sight of its unevenness only makes him feel more lightheaded.

Jongin uncurls his fists to exasperatedly run his shaky hands through his hair, his elbows falling onto the table with a soft _thump_. He leans his forehead against his palms and lets out a soft whine of frustration. _Why does this keep on happening?_

Jongin jumps at the sound of his phone vibrating loudly against the wooden table, and he turns his head only to stare at it with wide eyes. _His chest feels so tight_.

And…

_Everything…_

_Is so loud…_

The back of his head starts to ache, and even though he is aware that it’s only caused by the tension building in his head and neck area, Jongin can’t find it in himself to do anything to relieve the pain. _Really, really,_ really! _Why now? Why here?_

With desperation clawing through all the pain he’s enduring, Jongin goes to his last resort. He grabs his backpack roughly, and opens the zip all the way through. He rummages frantically through all of his belongings, not really caring about the racket he’s currently making nor about the worried glances the other patrons of the café is sending towards his way.

_Where is it?!_

He takes all of his belongings out, one by one, but his desired object is still nowhere to be found. He grabs the mess, and dumps it back into his bag – despite being a rather neat person in normal circumstances. And though this occurrence has becoming more and more frequent lately, Jongin still isn’t ready to consider it _normal_.

Jongin unzips the pocket of his backpack and rummages through the various pens and pencils tucked inside it, bringing out every writing tool for inspection.

Jongin nearly cries in both relief and fear when his fingers curl around the familiar cold metal that he’s been yearning for.

With a shaky hand, Jongin lifts his hand out of the pocket and stares at the metal cutter in his hand.

He doesn’t want to.

Not really.

But he _has_ to.

Jongin worries on his bottom lip as his heart continues to beat frantically against his chest. The attack is only beginning and he really, _really_ , does not want to cause a scene.

Not again.

Not.

Again.

 _Please_.

With wobbly knees, Jongin pushes himself up into a stand, his weight heavily relying on the couch as the ground beneath his feet sways in his vision. Jongin heaves another breath and focuses his eyes on his destination – the bathroom.

_Solitude. Privacy._

_Red._

Jongin isn’t quite sure how he managed it, taking one unsure yet long stride after another, he ends up getting closer and closer to the bathroom. He might have bumped into a person or two, but Jongin doesn’t really pay it much attention – his mind focused on far more important stuff.

He eventually finds himself right in front of the door, his shaky hand twisting the door knob loudly and closing the door behind him with much more force than necessary. Jongin slumps against the wood, and slides down onto the tiled floor.

Tears slide down his cheeks as a gurgled whine escapes his lips. He takes in a large gulp of air but it doesn’t feel enough. _It never seems enough_. It’s as if his body uses more oxygen than he can deliver and all he can do is _inhale and inhale and inhale_ , but it will _never_ be enough.

Jongin bangs his head against the door in frustration.

_Why does he have to be like this?_

Jongin opens his eyes (though he has no recollection of any intention to close it for more than necessary) and shifts his gaze between the cutter and the healing cuts on his other wrist.

 _He doesn’t want to do this_.

But his wrist is itching and his brain is breaking into two; his heart is getting out of hand and his whole being is _aching_ to do something, _anything._ It’s as if there’s _too much energy_ in his system and he doesn’t know what to make of it.

A knock on the door jolts Jongin out of his thoughts, and though it hasn’t been too loud, Jongin feels _on edge_. His heartbeat going even faster yet his body tensing impossibly still. “ _Hey, are you alright?_ ” The muffled voice from the other side of the door is soft and laced with worry but Jongin’s brain is going haywire and all he hears is: _you’re taking too long_ and Jongin _hears_ the ticking of an imaginary timer, his brain panicking and going haywire.

In a rush, Jongin looks down and pushes the blade out, the mental glinting in the pale bathroom light. He points the edge in between two fading cuts and drags it out, the skin beneath slicing open.

Jongin stares. He watches as tiny dots of crimson blood appear but it _isn’t_ enough.

Frankly, he failed to feel anything.

And so, Jongin cuts another. And another. And another. And _another._ Until there’s a series of bright red lines on his skin, amongst the fading old wounds and the white scars.

And though Jongin panics at the realization of what he just did _and God why did he do this in public?!_ , he feels comparably calmer than he did a couple of minutes before.

Jongin stares at the growing pool of blood on his arm as his muscles slowly relax and his heart beat returns to normal. It never made sense but the sight of his own blood has always had a calming effect on him.

Another series of knocks on the door and yet another worried, “ _Is everything alright in there?_ ” pulls Jongin out of his trance.

With a shaky breath and a quick clearing of his throat, Jongin replies with as much steadiness as he can manage. “Yeah, I’ll – I’ll be out in a moment.”

With another exhale, Jongin opens the tap and quickly rinses the blood away, relishing in the mild sting the contact delivers. Jongin turns off the tap but notices with a frown that the cut is still open, the reemerging dots of blood mixing with the water on his wrist, painting his arm a lighter shade of red.

Well, that’s an issue.

Jongin sighs and unlocks the wristwatch on his other arm and wears it on his slashed arm, successfully hiding the cuts from plain sight with a soft hiss of pain. Jongin pats his damp hands onto his face to rid his features of any tear stains, before he deems himself composed enough to be viewed by the public eye.

With a deep inhale, Jongin turns the knob and opens the door –

But the sight that welcomes him brings tension all over his body and his heart beat increase in pace, but not alarmingly so.

“What did you do?” The man before him asks, his voice clear of curiosity yet also without a trace of accusation. Jongin doesn’t know how to feel about this.

It’s _Kyungsoo_. And though they weren’t really close, just an old high school acquaintance whom he has only ever interacted with for academic purposes, Jongin still isn’t comfortable with the idea that _more_ people are becoming exposed to his attacks. To his random bouts of _craziness_.

“I, uhh—I used the bathroom?” Jongin knows it’s a lame response, but _really_ , how is anyone even supposed to answer such a question?

Kyungsoo sighs deeply, and Jongin has a feeling that the other is aware that he’s hiding something. Jongin instinctively digs his wrist deeper against his thigh but Kyungsoo catches his mistake. The tension in Jongin’s shoulders intensifies and he’s preparing himself for a rant, a speech, a scolding. He’s preparing for Kyungsoo’s fear, anger, irritation – _whatever_.

But what comes out of Kyungsoo’s mouth next is not exactly what he expected.

“Do you have anyone with you?”

Jongin answers carefully. “I—uh, I don’t think my friend’s arrived yet.” Jongin bites his lower lip in worry.

“Let’s go to your table.”

To say that Jongin is shocked is quite the understatement; here he is, leading the way to an old acquaintance that may very well be a stranger by now, to his table after a rather mild panic attack that’s solved with self-harm. Never had he considered such a scenario to happen.

Jongin sits where his bag is messily thrown in a corner and is yet again surprised when Kyungsoo sits right beside him.

Honestly, by now, he doesn’t know what to expect.

Jongin keeps his head low and fiddles with his fingers, feeling the heavy tension in the air despite the fact that the café patrons have gone back to mind their own businesses again. The silence is suffocating but he doesn’t really know if he’d rather Kyungsoo pry about his problems and mental issues. And so Jongin keeps his mouth shut.

The silence stretches on for minutes, until Kyungsoo finally opens his mouth.

“Jongin.”

Jongin doesn’t turn his head, doesn’t look at Kyungsoo’s direction. He knows Kyungsoo is aware that something isn’t right and he hangs his head low as the memories of the slashing comes back to mind. The cutter, the arm, the _blood_. Why is he so messed up in the head? Who, in their right mind, would resort to slicing their skin open?

_Why is he like this?_

“ _Jongin_.”

Jongin snaps out of his thoughts, and he finds patches of wet on his jeans. Had he been crying? He hasn’t even noticed.

“ _Jongin_.”

Jongin finally looks up, and his eyes meet the worried glance Kyungsoo is sending him.

And Jongin breaks down.

He feels Kyungsoo move, his arms encircling his shoulders, bringing him closer to his chest. Jongin doesn’t even have the energy to fight back and allows himself be covered in Kyungsoo’s warm embrace.

Jongin doesn’t _understand_. He doesn’t understand anything. Why is he such a crybaby? Why is he even crying? What’s the point of everything? He doesn’t understand at all. And he doesn’t understand why it’s Kyungsoo, of all people, who’s here to comfort him. He doesn’t understand why Kyungsoo even bothered at all.

He feels Kyungsoo’s arm rub his back soothingly, he feels his chin propped up on Jongin’s head. And everything feels so _warm_. And Jongin feels so _safe_.

But Kyungsoo is practically a stranger.

And he doesn’t deserve to be a part of Jongin’s mess. He doesn’t deserve to be dragged into the mess that is Jongin’s life.

So Jongin pulls away and sits upright once again, but Kyungsoo doesn’t remove the hand on his arm, while his other hand pulls away and rests on his own thigh. Jongin closes his eyes and bites his lips worriedly. Everything is so _embarrassing_.

“Jongin…” Kyungsoo calls for the nth time, but this instance, his voice is softer. Jongin turns to look at him but he finds the other’s attention elsewhere.

Jongin’s muscles tense as he hesitantly followed the other’s gaze.

 _Fuck_.

His cuts are exposed as the watch has been dislocated after his pathetic breakdown.

Jongin knows it’s too late but he turns his arm to hide it from plain sight but Kyungsoo holds it still.

Kyungsoo is staring at the four fresh cuts crisscrossing the bulging vein on his wrist with dried blood stuck around it.

And Jongin cannot do anything to hide it from his scrutinization as the other has far more force as he does. And Jongin cannot help but feel _trapped_ and _scared_ from the judgement he is _sure_ to receive. He expects the same old rants of _how fucked up are you to do this to yourself?!_ The same old speeches of _this is not worth it; you are stronger than this_. And the same old scolding of _you better not do anything like this again or I swear to_ God _, Jongin_!

And though he knows those are done with good intention, he can’t help but feel _sick_ of it. He’s heard enough. And it doesn’t help.

There’s a sigh that Kyungsoo releases and Jongin holds his breath, keeping his eyes closed, preparing for the scolding.

But it doesn’t come.

Instead, Kyungsoo releases his grip on Jongin’s arm and leaves, bringing the warmth and safety with him.

He watches Kyungsoo step away from him and walk away with blurring vision, and though it’s crossed his mind a _million_ times that Kyungsoo _is_ practically a stranger, he cannot help but feel the sting in his heart, caused by the other’s reaction.

He looks back down on his lap and allows himself to sulk, to quietly let the tears fall in fat droplets against his jeans.

 _Of course_.

What did he expect? What _could_ he expect from a stranger?

It’s better this way – at least, he’s saved from the prying questions and the worried glances and everything that makes his situation _even more_ exhausting.

But then a weight settles beside him, and Jongin looks up to see Kyungsoo with a stoic yet gentle expression. In his hand is a damp handkerchief, and with the use of his other hand, he reaches out to Jongin’s injured arm.

Jongin watches slightly, both in awe and confusion, as Kyungsoo says nothing while he gingerly cleans the fresh cuts on his arm. The dried blood slowly clings onto the hanky until there is nothing left on Jongin’s wrist but the little red lines and the old white ones.

Kyungsoo folds the handkerchief and places it onto the table.

And Jongin is crying again.

He feels Kyungsoo’s arms wrap around him once more, one hand cradling his head onto his shoulder and another hand soothingly rubbing his back and Jongin is back in his warm, _safe_ place.

How can a stranger make him feel so _safe_?

He doesn’t dwell on the question too much and just allow himself time to cry and enjoy the safety Kyungsoo brings with him.

They stay in that position until Jongin ran out of tears. Until Jongin has calmed down. And until Sehun arrives and sits on the seat opposite Jongin’s.

Only then does Kyungsoo let go. And with a polite smile and bow to the two, he leaves them behind and goes back to his original company.

Jongin frowns; he can’t believe that Kyungsoo left his friends – or whatever they are to Kyungsoo – behind for the sake of comforting him.

He can’t believe that Kyungsoo actually took the effort to approach him and soothe him to calmness.

He can’t believe that a person like Kyungsoo still even _exists_.

But Jongin’s attention is drawn back to his original company when Sehun speaks.

“Sorry, I was late. What was that about?”

Jongin spares the back of Kyungsoo’s head another glance before replying with as much nonchalance as he can muster. “Nothing.”

Jongin picks up his phone to be greeted by quite a number of text messages.

He opens them and sees that two of them are from Sehun and the rest are from an unknown number.

“ _Hey, it’s Do Kyungsoo. In case you were wondering, you gave me your number for a school project before._ ”

“ _I’m seated inside the same café as you and I was just wondering if you were ok_ ”

“ _Hey, you look distressed. Would you like some company?”_

_“Jongin? Is everything ok?”_

_“Jongin?”_

Jongin’s head snaps towards Kyungsoo’s direction as a few tears form once again to blur his vision. He bites his lips and keeps his tears from falling as he turns his attention to Sehun for a moment, who is already being far too chatty to Jongin’s liking.

Jongin looks back down at his phone and types out a simple, “ _Thank you.”_

Jongin can’t help but wish he was in Kyungsoo’s company instead.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is also posted on AFF.


End file.
